


A Distraction (of the best kind)

by maybe_we_were



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Baking, Confused Natasha, Distracted Steve, F/M, Flirting, Friendship/Love, One Shot, clueless thor, work out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-26 16:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3857557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybe_we_were/pseuds/maybe_we_were
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Steve gets distracted by Natasha's neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> AGE OF ULTRON COMES OUT TODAY! I won't be able to see it until tomorrow, but I'm super excited. Here's a little Steve/Nat to get you through the weekend. 
> 
> All belongs to Stan Lee/Marvel.

The first time Steve notices Natasha’s neck they’re on a mission in France. 

They are attending a high-end gala to do some simple information extraction.  Steve’s been talking with some of the men that are believed to be a part of an underground weapons deal, getting important clues about the storage location.  He’s nodding at something one of the guys said when he catches a flash of red move through the crowd.  His eyes stray, and although it appears he is paying attention to what is being said, he’s _definitely_ not. 

He shouldn’t be surprised when he figures out that it’s Natasha that caught his attention.  She’s next to the bar, chatting up an older gentleman, who’s offering her a drink.  She laughs, her head tipping back, and Steve realizes what has him so distracted. 

It’s not her floor length purple gown that has a slit up the side that showcases her curves perfectly, nor is it the way it’s cut to show the flawless skin of her shoulders and back.  It’s not even her hair, which is pinned up in an elegant updo.  It’s what the hair was hiding.

Her neck.

He feels like it’s always covered with red hair, sometimes curly, sometimes straight.  His eyes are glued to the length of smooth skin and he tugs at his tie to loosen it a little. 

When did it get hot in here? 

He turns his attention back to the men who are talking and gives them a polite nod before excusing himself.  He’s not sure what comes over him, because he’s beside her a few seconds later, breaking protocol. 

“Ma’am,” he greets her. 

She lifts an eyebrow, but angles her body so that they can communicate easier. 

“May I get you a drink?” 

“Sure…” her sentence trailing for him to supply his name for the evening. 

“Thomas,” he replies, extending a hand for her to shake. 

She does, then tells the older gentleman it was a pleasure talking with him.  After he leaves, Steve orders two vodka tonics and sets his gaze on Natasha. 

“What was that, Rogers?” she whispers, putting the glass to her lips and taking a sip. 

“It looked like he was bothering you.” 

Steve can feel himself flushing, because they both know that was a _huge_ lie.  His eyes keep wandering down to her neck and he has no idea what has gotten into him.  He’s just happy he didn’t blow the mission. 

“It’s alright, I’ve got everything I needed,” she says, letting him off the hook.  “Let me do one more round and we’ll get out of here.” 

He nods again and Natasha leaves to work the room.  The whole time he’s at the bar his eyes don’t leave her.

 

* * *

 

The second time Steve notices Natasha’s neck is a few days after they’re back from their mission. 

He was headed down to the kitchen for a snack and stumbled upon Natasha at the counter with a mixing bowl in hand.  She’s in jeans and a black t-shirt that’s covered by an apron.  Her auburn curls are twisted so that they are held off to one side, exposing the majority of her neck.  Steve’s not sure, but he’s probably got a dumbfounded look on his face.  He didn’t know she liked to bake, but judging by the heavenly smell that’s coming from the fresh-baked cookies on the counter, she’s pretty great at it.

She briefly looks up from the brownie batter she’s making, one hand stilling the bowl while the other holds a whisk. 

“Hey Steve,” she says, continuing her mixing. 

He just stands there, a little slack-jawed, taking in the view.  The sight makes Steve’s heart swell a little, because it’s as close to home as he’s felt in a long time.  And Natasha, who’s at the center of it all, is stunning, even in her casual clothes. 

He feels weak in the knees and it’s not from being hungry. 

Just as he’s about to put his foot in his mouth and say something stupid like, “What is that amazing smell?” his stomach growls loud enough for both of them to hear.  He’s embarrassed, but Natasha laughs. 

“Help yourself to some cookies,” she says as she pours the batter into a pan. 

He doesn’t need to be told twice and walks over to the opposite side of the counter to grab a few off the plate. 

“Thanks, these are great,” he says, sitting on one of the bar stools while stuffing a cookie in his mouth.

As she pours, a little bit of batter splashes up on her neck.  She must not notice it, but Steve does.  She turns and pops the pan in the oven before setting the timer. 

That bit of batter is still on her neck and it’s driving him _crazy_. 

He stuffs another cookie in his mouth and chews, watching Natasha walk around the island and plop onto the stool next to him.  She reaches out and grabs a cookie, letting out a breath and wiping a piece of stray hair away from her forehead.  He looks at the pulse point on her neck and then again at the batter that’s just below it. 

Stupid. Delicious. Brownies. 

At least, that’s what he’s going to blame it on.

Using his index finger, he slowly places a finger on her neck and wipes the batter off.  Now _she’s_ watching _him_ as he pulls his finger back and sucks the mixture off his fingertip. 

Green, dilated eyes catch his own and he realizes exactly what he just did.  He may have messed up not only their friendship, but their working relationship as well.  Unsure of what to say, he quickly hops off the bar stool and retreats back to the hallway, getting one last glance of Natasha, who now has a hand over the spot he touched.  She’s not freaking out or yelling or throwing things in his direction, just sitting there watching him like she’s trying to figure him out.  He mutters a quick thanks and keeps walking.

 

* * *

 

The third time he notices Natasha’s neck, they are in for the night to relax. 

Everyone else is either busy or on a different floor, meaning they have the living room and kitchen to themselves.  Steve’s sitting on the couch, sketch pad in hand, when Natasha flops down on the couch next to him.  _Right_ next to him. 

She moves around until she’s comfortable, nestled against his side.  Her hair is up in a messy bun, and she looks content with the book she brought.  She stretches her legs out so they rest on the coffee table in front of them and begins reading. 

Steve, on the other hand, is having a hard time controlling himself.  After their encounter in the kitchen, he sought out Sam for some advice and wisdom.  He already knew he was physically attracted to the assassin, but Sam pointed out he’s also attracted to her personality and intelligence. 

Talk about a triple threat. 

Since then, it’s been hard for him to get her off of his mind.  He’s already staring at her, so he decides to draw what he sees.  He starts with her shoulders, drawing crisp lines with a piece of charcoal.  It makes his fingers dirty, but there’s something about the way it contrasts the white paper. 

Continuing to sketch, he moves his focus to her neck.  There’s a tendril of hair that escaped her bun that’s resting against it.  All her really wants to do is move that piece of hair away and touch the soft skin beneath. 

He thinks she may not mind it, since there have been signs, or at least, what he thinks are signs.  Lately, she’s been hanging out with him more and more.  A light brush of fingertips, playful shoves, and a workout that got a bit too friendly for teammates have occurred over the last few days. 

If he’s going to make a move, he needs to be deliberate about it, because the last thing he wants to do is make her confused.  Or worse, uncomfortable. 

He puts the charcoal down on the end table to his side and wipes the excess on his jeans.  His palms are getting sweaty and his increased body heat isn’t helping, either.  He take a deep breath to calm his nerves, then reaches for the tendril with his fingers.  He’d rather not startle her and risk a broken hand. 

Her eyes move from her book to his fingers and she turns her head a little bit more in his direction.  His fingers shake as they grasp the curl and push it aside before he slowly leans in and places a kiss where it was.  His heart is pounding hard in his chest and he wonders if hers is too.  He hears her suck in a breath as she twists around so they face each other.

“Natasha,” he says, in a soft voice. 

“Steve…” she whispers. 

And then there’s silence.

 

* * *

 

The next morning is the fourth time Steve notices Natasha’s neck, although it’s actually Thor who brings his attention to it. 

Everyone, minus Tony, is at the kitchen table for breakfast.  They are chatting about their plans for the day when Thor gets this strange look on his face.  He looks like he’s pondering something, staring at Natasha before he clears his throat. 

“Lady Natasha,” he says in a voice that is somewhat loud, “where’d you get that mark on your neck?” 

All eyes go to the dark, bruised looking skin that peeks just below her pulse point and another near her collarbone.  The entire room goes _quiet_.

Natasha shrugs before shooting a look over to Steve, who can feel his face turning red.  The look of realization on Clint’s face is priceless.


	2. In Between Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some in between moments from the first chapter. I'm totally in denial about Age of Ultron, so here's some more Steve/Nat.

They’re back in the hotel room SHIELD set up for them before Natasha says anything. 

The room itself is nice, a queen size bed, a large couch, bathroom that has a shower and tub, plus extra amenities like a coffee maker, tv, and microwave.  The walls are a calming blue color and there are pictures of the Eiffel Tower and other landmarks that are framed and hung up to fill the empty space. 

Natasha drops the room key on the dresser as Steve hangs up his dinner jacket in the closet.  They’ve already debriefed, so it’ll be nice to get into casual clothing and breathe for a minute.  Steve’s busying himself with his tie when he hears the patter of feet on the carpet. 

Natasha appears at his side and stands there until she has his attention (which doesn’t take long, since he hasn’t be able to take his eyes off her for more than a few seconds all night).  He angles his head so he’s looking at her and raises an eyebrow. 

“What’s up?” he questions. 

Rotating so her back is to him, she asks, “Can you get my zipper?” 

He’s glad she’s facing the opposite direction, because the fierce blush that covers his face is _very_ noticeable. 

“Uh…” his hands fall down to his side, “of course.” 

He’s slightly confused because she was able to get in the gown by herself, so he knows she’s fully capable of getting out of it by herself.  Not only that, but she _never_ asks for help.  But when a beautiful woman asks you for your assistance, you don’t question it. 

At least, that’s what he was taught. 

He’s unsure of what to do, since his experience with helping a woman undress is non-existent. 

Rubbing his hands together so that they are warm, he grasps the zipper that’s between the bottom of her shoulder blades and tugs downward.  His other hand takes on the task of holding her dress in place. 

It’s while he’s doing this that his fingers graze bare skin.  Goosebumps pop up where his fingers had been and suddenly it feels like all the air was sucked out of the room.  A flash of black catches his eye and he focuses on it, before he realizes it’s her strapless bra. 

The burn inside of him is so strong that he needs to calm down or Natasha’s going to wonder what’s going on.  He takes another breath before finishing the job. 

“There ya go,” he says, patting her hip to signal he’s done. 

The hand still holding the dress moves as she pulls away, revealing a lot of skin.  His eyes shoot up to the ceiling, because he knows if he looks at what’s been unveiled, he won’t be able to help himself. 

“Thanks Steve,” she says in a low voice. 

As she heads towards the bathroom for a shower, Steve _swears_ she purposely sashays her hips.

 

* * *

 

It’s only an hour after the incident in the kitchen that there’s a knock on his door. 

He shuffles over and opens it to find Natasha with a plate of brownies, sans apron.

“Rogers,” she greets as she saunters in, placing the brownies on his kitchen counter.  “Thought you might like some brownies, based off your taste earlier.” 

The smirk on her face makes him feel surprised and aroused at the same time.  Surprised because she’s being blunt about what happened and aroused because it appears she really didn’t mind.  It’s also a push aimed at him.  It’s something they do; she pushes, he pulls.  She’s fire, he’s ice.  She’s lightning, he’s thunder.  The air crackles with tension and he can tell she’s enjoying challenging him. 

Well, two can play that game. 

He moves until he is in front of her, chest pressed against her shoulder and mouth near her ear. 

“That’s not the only thing I’d like a taste of,” he whispers, lips brushing the sensitive skin of her earlobe. 

He’s like to taste her mouth and neck, know how her skin feels against his.  This is the most forward thing he’s ever done, and it’s no surprise that Natasha seems speechless.  He lingers for a few seconds before chuckling and grabbing the plate of brownies. 

He heads towards the living room where the History Channel is playing something about the pyramids in Egypt.  Natasha joins him on the sofa, placing her feet in his lap.  Mindlessly, he starts to massage her feet and she lets out a quiet moan when he hits a particularly sore spot.  The foot still resting on his thigh digs in a little, but he barely feels it.  He runs a knuckle up her arch, then works on her toes.  They’re dainty, the nails painted a vibrant red color. 

They sit in relative silence until the next program comes on.  His hands stop as he says, “You made dessert, so I’ll make dinner.” 

He grasps both ankles with a hand and supports her calves with the other, lifting her feet so he can get up.  Once he’s up, he looks over to find her asleep.  Her face is relaxed and unguarded, a sight Steve rarely sees.  He pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and lays it over her small frame, leaving her to rest.  When she wakes up an hour later, he has dinner ready, which they share before spending the evening together.

 

* * *

 

When Natasha asks him to spar a few days later, Steve thinks nothing of it. 

They’ve worked out together before, assessing each other’s strengths and weaknesses, trying to make the other better.  He likes sparring with Natasha, her movements like a dance as she glides around on the rubber mats.  Currently, she has her fists up, bouncing on her toes, and he’s doing the same, waiting for her to make a move (he hates to be the first).  She throws a punch with her left fist, using her weaker arm, which Steve easily dodges.  He raises an eyebrow, since he knows that she is going easy on him. 

She huffs out a breath and changes her posture.  He can see the fire flare in her eyes, which are narrowed in on him. 

Now he’s in trouble. 

First, she tries to punch him in the stomach, which Steve blocks with his forearm.  She then swipes her foot so quickly that it catches his ankle, propelling him towards the ground. 

By the time he’s trying to get back up, she’s already on top of him, pinning him to the mats with her thighs on either side of his waist.  He knows to watch out for one of her deadliest assets, but his head hasn’t been on straight lately.  Her hair curtains her face, and their faces are close enough that it conceals his as well.

What she tends to forget is his super strength.  He uses his arms to push so that _she’s_ the one on the mats, his right hand capturing her wrists above her head, the other resting near her ribs.  He lays the majority of his weight on her, enough that she’ll stay down but not so much that he’s crushing her.  She breathes and her warm breath hits his face, and Steve realizes the position they are in. 

Her chest moves with every inhale and exhale, and he’s got a view of her curves up close.  The hand resting on her ribs starts to trace a soft pattern back and forth.  Meanwhile, her leg moves up so it wraps around him and her back arches up a little, pressing more of their bodies closer together. 

His brain short circuits at the warmth and feel of the woman below him.  And it’s not just her body, it’s that it’s _Natasha_. 

This is also _not_ a normal workout for them.  He’s not sure if he can handle sparring together anymore.  Every touch, every look, it’s almost too much.  He really, really wants to close the space between their lips, because he knows that he wants this, wants her, and he’s wanted it for a while.  He’s just been too clueless to see it until recently.

“Steve,” Natasha says, catching his attention. 

He looks up at her knowing smile, and he realizes he’s been caught staring. 

“Excuse me,” he sputters, scrambling to get up.  “I’ve…I have to go check in on Tony.” 

He needs to get out of there _now_ before things get messy. 

“Steve,” she says again, this time in a stronger voice, sitting up. 

He’s on his way to the door and nothing she says will stop him.  He can’t believe how close he almost got. 

“Steve, please, wait,” she pleads. 

But he’s already gone.


End file.
